


breath of the sun

by vwritesaus



Series: BokuAka Week 2020 [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: BokuAka Week 2020, Childhood Friends, Confessions, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up, M/M, Why is tagging so difficult, tiny bit of angst... just a little bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:15:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25621972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vwritesaus/pseuds/vwritesaus
Summary: Palm smarting from an enthusiastic high-five, Akaashi considers letting the quaking of his hands come to a rest. There’s so much he wants to tell him, so many words he wants to make flutter out of his mouth and into the world, to rest in Bokuto’s ears and filter into his heart.But he will wait. He will wait and bide his time, allow for the natural reaction to rise up out of the soil and into the sun.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Series: BokuAka Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1857256
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30





	breath of the sun

**Author's Note:**

> so it's BokuAka week and i am SO EXCITED for all the content that's being produced rn :D thought i'd join the bokuaka bandwagon and give you this: a combination of confessions and childhoods from day 1's prompts!
> 
> please check out the other works on the official Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/BokuakaWeek) and i'll be back with some more prompts during the week!

At seven years old, Akaashi is acutely aware of three simple things: the sun is bright and hot today, passing through the trees in speckled, white spots; beyond the wooded edge lies a field of golden sunflowers, tall stems proud and lazily swaying in a soft breeze; and the chubby fingers of his friend holding his thin wrist gently, pulling him towards what he calls the _best place in the world!_

His friend’s smile is blinding when they stop at the border of trees and sunflowers, eyes round and shimmering. Akaashi finds himself far more fascinated by that pull of lips and puffed out pink cheeks, of the simple curves at the corners of golden eyes, than at the huge expanse of brown-spotted flora.

Fingers slip from his wrist to settle between his own, their tight grip the only warning he receives before they’re racing into the towering green stalks, rustling each and every yellowed head. Thrilled laughter fills the summer air, drowning out the rush of tunnelled wind and Akaashi’s thundering heartbeat.

Bokuto Koutarou, his best friend, outshines even the most golden of things.

(And when Akaashi wakes up, locating a fiercely snoring and sprawled Bokuto in the futon next to his, he wonders why a field of sunflowers on the edge of a forest is less impressive than a smile.)

Akaashi’s tenth birthday marks four years of friendship with Bokuto; reminds him of the truly chaotic first meeting wherein Bokuto had—quite literally—jumped into his life. Hair tucked into a dark blue beanie and body cradled in a marshmallow of a jacket, Bokuto had sprung up in front of Akaashi with a yell and holding a snowball the size of a basketball above his head. To this day, Akaashi wonders how he had managed to make it that big without it crumbling into pieces, and wonders how Bokuto had managed to throw it at another child not too far from where they both had stood without it dropping on his own head.

What followed was a series of hurried apologies and repeated bows towards Akaashi, his mother and his whimpering, two-year-old sister, along with a shout of _hey, wanna play?_ and a crooked grin.

All it had taken was a small nudge from his mother for Akaashi to spend the evening of his sixth birthday with Bokuto and the snowballed child—Bokuto’s older sister, Akaashi would later find out—running around and screaming with delight at each new hit from a perfectly-made snowball. Exchanged phone numbers between mothers and promises between red-faced, breathless children saw Akaashi’s and Bokuto’s friendship bloom into the smallest sprout.

So Akaashi’s tenth birthday has Bokuto tackling him into a tight hug and the remains of a smashed snowball dripping through his hair. It’s clearly war, resulting in a shriek from Bokuto the second Akaashi chucks a handful of snow into his chest. It becomes a battle between friends and siblings, Akaashi siding with thirteen-year-old Bokuto Tomoko and Bokuto swearing to protect the tiny form of six-year-old Akaashi Eriko.

The end of the night sees Akaashi and Tomoko as the victors, and Eriko comforting a pouty Bokuto with soft pats on his shoulder and nose-nuzzles into his cheek. Akaashi watches the exchange and questions the odd spark in his chest; questions its disappearance the moment Bokuto’s eyes land on him, mouth splitting into a wide grin.

Fourteen sees Akaashi’s hands trembling against his thighs in unbridled anticipation, sees his eyes tracing the high arc of a blue and yellow spiralled ball as it flies above his head. It begins to fall towards a diamond of trembling fingers, bounces off them and is catapulted in the direction of a leaping bird, wings spread and soaring through the sky. The ball drops like a bomb, the smack against concrete drowned out by a holler of excitement.

Bokuto’s already in high school, has easily mingled with the throng of first year boys in the school’s volleyball team, yet he’s here with Akaashi instead. It fills him up with a warmth like no other, to know that Bokuto prefers his company—though often quiet on his side—over that of his new friends’ on a Friday afternoon; prefers Akaashi’s tosses as they practice their skills in the park, their net a mere string tied to two tree trunks, and their court the grass and pavement.

And when Bokuto shouts for one more, Akaashi cannot avoid complying, cannot avoid to tear his gaze away from the impeccable form of Bokuto’s jump and the stretch of his fingers, forever reaching towards the view over the top. Akaashi has no stronger feelings of satisfaction than that of his toss, his play, being received and flung onto the other side of the court with nothing short of sheer confidence and perfection.

Palm smarting from an enthusiastic high-five, Akaashi considers letting the quaking of his hands come to a rest. There’s so much he wants to tell him, so many words he wants to make flutter out of his mouth and into the world, to rest in Bokuto’s ears and filter into his heart.

But he will wait. He will wait and bide his time, allow for the natural reaction to rise up out of the soil and into the sun.

(And judging by the way Bokuto’s entire face lights up upon seeing Akaashi between groups of students and clutched pamphlets, wearing the same uniform he’s wearing, Akaashi knows he’s made the right decision.)

The older Akaashi gets, the more he starts to accept that at some stage of his life, he will end up alone. But at seventeen, on the train to school first thing in the morning, Akaashi finds he has not prepared for the sharp sting that rises up in his lungs. The filled seats on either side of him feel empty, his left ear receives deafening, clear sounds through an earphone, and both his shoulders are weightless, cheeks free from tickling strands of wild hair. His tablet has an audience of one.

Graduation is an inevitable occurrence. It is something that, in the past, Akaashi wasn’t afraid of, and could picture himself crossing that threshold and finding Bokuto on the other side, waiting to enlighten him of all the new things he’s learned in their year apart.

The world on the other end of high school is beyond anything either of them have ever known. School has always been that foundation, the easy expectation, the simplicity of the education system. Unchanging. Adulthood presents the unknown in a new light, for Akaashi cannot follow Bokuto now. Bokuto cannot teach him the things he’s learned, because their paths have verged into two forked directions, embedded with wilted flowers and darkened trails. Akaashi’s path has a wrought-iron gate to which only he holds the key. Bokuto’s gate has been thrown wide open, key nowhere in sight for Akaashi to take.

But it’s not just Bokuto’s gate Akaashi sees. High school had brought Akaashi a cohort so bizarre yet grounding that he now sees six gates, seven with Bokuto’s in the middle next to his sealed one, all possessing a filled space, dirt tracks blooming with things Akaashi can’t see beyond adorned stone pillars. They’re in their own spaces now, all living life as it comes to them in varying shapes and sizes.

Akaashi’s path will no doubt open to one completely different to the others, and that is a terrifying prospect. Bokuto’s not there to drag him into a known realm, to help him adjust and explain everything in a vivid detail that only Bokuto can fashion. Bokuto doesn’t know Akaashi’s path, doesn’t know what lies past that padlocked gate for he doesn’t have access. The key sits in the middle of Akaashi’s chest, pulsing with a faint energy.

Train rides are lonely and nostalgia is a dangerous tool.

Yet when Akaashi’s phone buzzes against his leg, his screen littered with numerous and colourful things from a boy on the other side of the city, sunlight peeks through and splashes across the entire carriage.

Watching Bokuto grow up alongside him has been a gift. Chubby cheeks moulding into a sharp jawline, a small energetic body shooting up into a tall, strong one, tiny hands forming into reliable, warm ones… Bokuto has changed a lot, grown mature and independent, a better version of himself. But even at twenty-one, Bokuto still harbours that infectious smile and that ridiculous streaked hair that Akaashi dreams of playing with, that boundless energy and passion for everything he sees, that loud laugh and those round, awestruck golden eyes.

Akaashi still gets to see that, even now as Bokuto invades his living room with his presence, arms laden with chip packets and beer cans. A part of Akaashi can’t help but reach out and take a few things, setting them down onto the coffee table and allowing Bokuto to sink into the spot next to him on the couch without the danger of dropping everything. Bokuto merely laughs out his gratitude, knowing look on his face. Akaashi smiles back, a minute action in itself, and turns his gaze to the television that’s starting to come to life.

While he has grown and physically changed too, he has to admit that he’s afraid he is still stuck in the past; still clinging onto the memories and the times where Bokuto made him feel weightless, invincible… Afraid that the crouched animal resting in his stomach is a manifestation of childish emotions, ones without any justifications other than an out-of-control imagination.

Yet the animal remains, having purred contently for the past few years, but now awakening with a desire so strong it makes Akaashi’s nerves flare. Even though he’s an adult now, having just celebrated his twentieth birthday, the feelings are ever present.

With the setting they’re in, dim room and glare of the screen falling on their skins in shades of neon, it screams perfect. Perhaps it’s time to let the animal go.

So Akaashi releases it, lets the lingering words leave his mouth. He doesn’t look at Bokuto, but he doesn’t need to in order to know that he’s whipped his head to gape at him. The animal has been replaced with his own heartbeat, irregular and booming in his ears. But then he’s being grasped by the shoulders and forced to look into Bokuto’s face, alarmed to take in serious eyes lined with what seem horribly like tears. The question that lies in the air feels like a slap, and his following, tiny nod causes Bokuto’s mouth to crack into a watery smile. Words fall like rain, unrelenting, hitting Akaashi in the stomach in soft blows. He knows his cheeks are hot, his body shaking upon the revelation that’s being unravelled before him, but he can only focus on the warm hand now travelling up the side of his neck and the thumb grazing his jawline.

Akaashi doesn’t think twice, just allows himself to succumb to the sun and close the gap.

_Upon the forest’s edge lies a field of sunflowers, glowing in the afternoon light, heads swaying as two little boys run through the stalks…_


End file.
